


Barter

by thelittlelion



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Brief Homelessness, Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlelion/pseuds/thelittlelion
Summary: Stumbling home drunk is one thing. Stumbling over a kid huddled on his doorstep is quite another. Hercules knows it’s a stupid idea to invite the kid in, but somehow he does it anyway.Alexander Hamilton turns out to be dark and biting. He's exactly the opposite of Hercules' usual type, but he can't seem to get him out of his head. Alex, meanwhile, has never been one to accept charity.





	

It’s dark enough, and he’s drunk enough, that Hercules almost steps on the man coming home.

In his defense, the guy on his doorstep is curled up so tightly the shadow of the wall conceals him. Hercules’ foot actually does land on they guy’s shoelaces, which pull taut as he yanks his feet back, glaring up at Hercules sharply.

“Watch where the fuck you’re stepping,” the man hisses, before huddling deeper into his arms. He’s wearing a dark sweatshirt several sizes too big, with the hood pulled low over his eyes, arms crossed tight over his chest. Even on a summer night, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he must be freezing.

Hercules fishes out a few crumpled dollars from his back pocket in apology. “Here,” he says and extends the cash.

Pale hands dart out like flashing silver fish, snatching the money from his fingers. It disappears somewhere inside his jacket and the man tilts his head up, hood falling just enough for Hercules to sees a pair of shiny black eyes peeking out from underneath.

“Thanks,” the man mutters. “What do you want for it?”

What Hercules wants is to get past this homeless man and collapse on his bed before his hangover hits. He sighs, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a 24/7 McDonalds that way,” he says, “You’d be better off there _.”_ And off his front porch, he doesn’t add.

The guy snorts. “Right.” Either he doesn’t believe Hercules or he’s heard it before.

Still, he unfolds himself slowly, rising up to a height barely even with Hercules’ chest. Despite that, once on a more equal level Hercules can see that he’s overestimated the guy’s age. The stranger can’t be past his late teens, probably only a few years younger than Hercules himself despite their size difference. He tries not to feel guilty as the kid swings a large duffle bag over one shoulder, a backpack on the other, before giving him a half-hearted salute.

“Thanks again,” the kid mutters.

It’s a relief when he finally goes. Hercules shuffles to his door, fumbling with his keys until he can find the right one, then playing a drunken game of stick-the-key-in-the-doorknob. After nearly a minute of low cursing he finally gets the key to fit, then makes the mistake of looking up. He can’t help but look for the kid, finally spying him nearly at the end of the block, heading in the exact wrong direction of the McDonalds.

Hercules hesitates for one, maybe two seconds, cursing everything, before he drops the doorknob and starts jogging down the street to catch him.

“Hey!” he calls, “Hey, wait a minute. Hold up.”

The guy jerks around, clutching at his bag and backing away as Hercules runs toward him. Hercules has seen that move before, mostly on little old white ladies. He slows to a stop a few feet away, trying his best to look nonthreatening.

“Leave me alone,” the guy hisses, but it’s not fear in his voice. On a second take, the guy doesn’t look scared at all. He looks angry. Pissed in fact. Hercules abruptly reevaluates, holding up his hands.

“Look man, you’re going the wrong way.”

“I don’t need your help,” he sneers, fingers wrapping white around his two bags. Maybe he is scared, Hercules thinks. He’s got a bit of an accent, not one that Hercules can place, not one he’s heard a lot in the city. It could be he was just out of his depths and floundering.

Something in the kid’s defensive posture gets to him. Hercules sighs, rubbing a hand over his head. He’s about to do something absolutely stupid and he knows it.

“Yeah, well, you’re getting it,” he returns. “Listen, do you want to crash at my place?”

“What?” The kid takes a step back, clinging to his bag.

“Look, you don’t have to,” Hercules says shortly, “But my apartment has a heater and it’s going to be freezing out tonight. You look cold.”

Beneath his hood, the kid’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “You must be joking.”

Hercules rolls his eyes, the alcohol he’s consumed burning through his normally long patience. He jams his hand into his pocket, ignoring the way the kid flinches, and pulls out his student ID.

“My name’s Hercules Mulligan. I’m a junior at the college. I used to be an RA, if that means anything to you.” By the way the kid’s head tilts, probably not. Hercules heaves another sigh, rolling on. “I’m drunk,” he continues frankly, “and cold and would really like to sleep without worrying that you’ve frozen to death out here. Do you want to come in or don’t you?”

Maybe it’s more theatrical than he should be, but he _is_ drunk. He’s allowed to steal some of Lafayette’s dramatics for his own.

And it seems to work. The kid narrows his eyes at him again, scrutinizing his ID for several long seconds, before he jerks his chin down. Relief floods him at the consent. Hercules claps his hands together, seeing his breath turn white as he breathes into them.

“Alright,” he says. No use second-guessing now. “Come on. I’ll get the couch set up.”

He turns and starts walking, trying to hide his grin when he hears the kid fall into step behind him. His keys are still hanging in the doorknob where he’d abandoned them and that’s just embarrassing. He must be drunker than he thought. He covers them with his palm, hoping the kid won’t see, and let’s them both in. It’s not exactly warm inside, but there’s an orange light on in the hall that makes it seem so. Hercules waits until the kid slips through the door, pressing his back to the wall and staring at him shrewdly, before he turns and leads him past the broken elevator to the stairwell.

Hercules’ apartment is on the third floor. Normally, it’s a hotbed of activity, but with Lafayette in France still and Laurens visiting his father in South Carolina, Hercules has the place to himself. That means it’s cleaner than it usually is. No sign of take-out boxes littering their tiny living room and all of Lafayette’s shitty romance novels packed away into their shared bedroom. It’s still cramped and messy, as college apartments are, but the floor is clearly visible and it smells like the nice vanilla candles Hercules’ indulged in.

It’s also warm.

Hercules shucks off his jacket and lets it hang on the hook near the door, toeing off his shoes beneath it. He glances back at the kid, wondering how insensitive it is to ask him to follow suit, when he sees that’s the kid’s already taken off his shoes, holding them in one hand while his big toe peeks out through a hole in his sock.

He’s staring at Hercules hard in the face, if anything tenser than he was outside. The veins in his neck are hard, like he’s a racehorse preparing to run. Hercules doesn’t really know what to do for that, other than to give him some space, so he gives him a nod and pads off down the hallway without another word.

Half a minute later he returns with a throw blanket and a pillow off of Laurens’ bed (it was due for a wash anyway and Laurens owns at least three more than he and Lafayette combined). He finds the kid still in the doorway, gripping his bags tightly, peering around the apartment like someone’s about to jump out at him. He startles when Hercules dumps the bedding on the couch, covering his surprise with a scowl.

“Feel free to make the couch up,” Hercules says, pretending he hasn’t noticed. “There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry. You can help yourself. I’m going to hop in the shower, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t rob me while I’m in there.”

This is possibly the stupidest thing he’s ever done. Luckily for him, if it blows up in his face all he has is the forty bucks in his wallet, a shitty TV, and an even shittier laptop sitting on his bed. By the way the kid is eyeing the sofa, looking honest to god _sleepy_ , Hercules is going to take his chances. Besides, he has to shower. He’ll never been able to sleep with bar sweat still clinging to him.

He keeps his wash short anyway and takes his clothes with him to the bathroom so he doesn’t have to walk out in a towel. When he emerges, the kid is sitting stiffly on the couch, bags and shoes tucked tightly against his legs. He’s still in his sweatshirt, but he’s pushed the hood back now and Hercules gets a good glimpse of a prominent nose, heavy brow, and inky black hair pulled tied loosely at the nape. He’s oddly alluring in a fierce sort of way, all the sharp puzzle pieces of his face falling into line when he scowls. It makes him look older than he is, though he can’t be very old at all.

“You’re an idiot,” is the first thing the kid says when Hercules comes out. He’s fidgeting with his hands, picking at the cuticles in a way that makes Hercules’ cringe. He shoves it down, heading into the kitchen for water and maybe to prove the food in the fridge really is up for grabs.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He pours himself a glass of water from the tap, then reconsiders, pulling out two mugs from the cupboard and flicking on the electric kettle.

“I’m making you tea,” he announces. “You like chamomile?”

Confusion plays on the kid’s face. “Black,” he says finally and lifts his thumb to his mouth, tearing off a chunk of nail, not even seeming to notice. Hercules winces.

“Black’s got caffeine,” he says. Dear lord, he’s reverting to his RA voice – the same one that earned him the title of the Mom Friend from Lafayette two weeks into their freshman year. “You’re getting chamomile.”

He tells himself he isn’t mothering as he reaches into the cupboard and finds the right tin. How Lafayette would laugh if he saw him now. It isn’t his fault he’s the only one with common sense out of his friends.

At least the kid doesn’t argue. On a second thought, Hercules reaches into his fridge for some left over pasta, heaping it onto a plate and plopping it into the microwave. It must be the right choice by the way the kid’s head pops up, nostrils flaring when Hercules brings the food over.

Hercules sets the plate on the coffee table along with a mug before settling himself down on the other chair. He leans back, blowing on his tea, watching as the kid eyes the plate for a moment before grabbing at it, scarfing it down in a quickly. By the end, the kid looks tired enough to blow over, though he’s valiantly trying to cover it up with a scowl. Hercules finally lowers his cup as he finishes, leaning back into his chair even more.

“So, you got a name?” he asks.

The kid scowls at him. “Of course I do.”

“And?” Hercules prompts. “Are you going to give it to me?”

By the way he purses his lips, Hercules assumes no, but then the kid surprises him, seizing at Hercules’ unintentional challenge with a glare.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he declares. “My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

Hercules meets his glare with raised eyebrows. “I guess I already told you, but I’m Hercules. And I know what you’re thinking. Make fun of my name or sing that stupid Disney song and you can forget all about my comfy couch.”

His usual joke falls flat. Alexander’s head tilts. “Okay,” he says, but it’s more like _Okay?_ Like he has no idea what Hercules is talking about.

“So, where are you from?” Hercules ventures after an awkward beat. “And please tell me you’re not some teenage runaway. I’ve got to tell you, I really do not want to have to call the police on your ass.”

The suggestion makes Alex’s eye twitch. “I’m nineteen,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “And it’s none of your business.”

Which, sure, is true, but the kid is also crashing on his couch. “Your accent is neat,” Hercules comments, but it deepens the scowl on Alexander’s face.

“Whatever.”

Hercules backs off. He’s clearly going to get nowhere here. “Do you have somebody you can call?” he asks instead.

Alex peers at him, then shakes his head swiftly. No. Hercules sighs.

“Well, do you have an idea of where you want to go? After tonight, I mean. I might be able to get you a lift someplace.”

Laurens’ had left the keys to his van when he flew down south. He doesn’t have work tomorrow, which means he hypothetically could get Alex wherever he needed to go, thereby relieving the guilt he’s already anticipating when it comes time for him to boot Alex out.

But Alex shakes his head again. “Nowhere,” he says. “Here.”

“Here?” Hercules frowns at him. “You said you don’t have anyone to call. What on the hell are you doing here for?” He doesn’t strike Hercules has one of those artist types. The way he’d been sitting on Hercules’ porch felt too gritty, too real, to have been done in the pursuit of some far-away acting gigs.

“I just got here,” Alex says. His shoulders have relaxed some. He’s still staring at Hercules, never letting him out of his sights, but he’s leaned back against the sofa, sinking into the cushions a bit. “I’ll have someplace soon. It’s only temporary.”

“What do you mean?”

Alex shrugs. “Classes start in a fortnight. I’m assuming things will open up.”

“You’re a student?”

Alex smiles something sharp and victorious. “First year,” he announces.

“Congratulations.” Hercules, who came from a not-so-rich background himself, gets the pride. He wants to ask more about Alex’s home life, but he’s also distracted, stringing together a train of thought that makes him frown at the conclusion he reaches. “You’re in the dorms then, right? You know they don’t open for another week.”

Alex snorts. “Yeah, I learned that the hard way.” He leans forward, finally picking up the tea Hercules made him, before relaxing back into his seat. “My fucking flight got in a few days ago. Fucking got here too early for them, I guess. I didn’t realize they wouldn’t be open yet, so I’m making do.”

Alex shrugs casually, like sleeping in the streets of an unfamiliar city is a perfectly reasonable solution to finding his expected housing closed. He tenses when he sees Hercules gaping. “What?” he demands, hunching in defensively. “I didn’t know. It’s not like I bought my own ticket, you know?”

Hercules doesn’t know _what_ he means by that, but he’s heard enough that the RA in him has well and truly risen. He shakes his head. “Listen, forget what I said before,” he says. “The couch is yours as long as you want it.”

Alex’s smile slips off. “Excuse me?”

“The dorms won’t open for another week.” Hercules would know. He’s still got friends on hall staff. “You can’t just sleep in the streets until then. My roommates are out until classes start anyway. Just take the couch. I really don’t mind.”

Alex’s eyes shrink to slits on his face. His mouth pinches, shoulders pulling up against his ears.

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he snarls and slams his tea down. It’d be impressive if Hercules was not so tired and generally immune to the bruised egos of freshmen.

“Then don’t be,” Hercules says simply. “Pay me back later. I don’t care. But don’t be an idiot and get yourself killed on the streets ten days before classes start.”

Alex’s scowl deepens further. His shoulders are like a wire ready to snap. “I don’t have any money,” he finally bites out, black eyes glittering like he’s just _daring_ Hercules to mock him for it. Instead, Hercules yawns, jaw cracking from the force of it.

“Yeah well, join the club.”

He doesn’t wait to see the reaction, rolling to his feet and heading to the kitchen with the dishes. He deposits them into the sink with a quick rinse, yawning again. He’s so ready for bed. He turns around, preparing to do just that, only to find that Alex standing near the counter with an inscrutable expression on his face. Hercules hadn’t even heard him move.

“I don’t have any money,” Alex repeats, lowly. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest again, but he’s not scowling anymore. “But I’ll pay you back.”

Hercules blinks at him. He hadn’t actually meant it. He really didn’t care if the kid took his couch, so long as none Hercules’ stuff walked off with him. He ends up nodding dully, movement broken when yet another yawn escapes him.

“Right well, I’m going to bed.” He waves a hand idly around the kitchen. “Feel free to take more food. There are extra towels under the sink if you want to shower. And again, I’d strongly prefer it if you didn’t steal my shit. I’ll even make you breakfast if you stay.”

That seems to be everything. He turns for the hallway, but he must be drunker than he feels because he stumbles. The next thing he knows Alex has his hands tangled in his shirt, holding him steady – or just holding him given how little Alex is in comparison. Hercules sways, held for a moment by Alex’s warm hands against his chest, before he finds his balance again.

“Shit sorry,” he mutters, heat rushing to his ears. He’s glad Alex can’t see it, gladder still that the kid doesn’t seem freaked out by his stumble.

“It’s fine,” Alex says. He’s still got his hands wrapped in Hercules shirt though, which doesn’t seem right. Alex tilts his head up to stare at him, expression blank by eyes dark and heavy. Something seems to pass between them. Hercules isn’t sure what, but he finds himself drawn downward into that dark gaze.

He doesn’t realize how far he’s bent, hunched over several inches, until Alex’s hot breath skirts over his face. It shocks him. He realizes then that he’s got his hands wrapped around Alex’s forearms and – shit, Alex isn’t not legging go. _Hercules isn’t letting him._

He jerks back, breaking the contact, tugging his hands away and shoving them into his armpits. Electricity races up his arms and down to his toes. He can’t remember the last time he’s been tempted like this. Alex isn’t even his normal type – short, abrasive, _male_. But he realizes with a steadily sinking stomach that the pull in his naval is strictly one of attraction.

And he’d been coming onto him. Coming on to the guy he’d just let crash on his couch with nowhere else to go like some kind of the slummy of creep.

“I’m drunk,” he blurts out, but the second he hears it he knows it sounds like a shit excuse. “I’m drunk. I’m sorry. Shit. I wouldn’t - I’m really sorry. I’m just going to – ”

He gestures desperately in the direction of his room before edging around Alex, taking care not to touch him, and fleeing down the hallway. He can’t _believe_ he just did that.

He stumbles his way into his bedroom and locks the door, throwing himself onto his bed. He is _not_ the kind of guy to make stupid passes when he’s drunk. He is _not_ the kind of guy to pressure his houseguests into having sex.

He can feel Alexander’s stare like it’s still on him, pushing him down in a dark accusation. He buries his face into his pillow trying to get away from the stalking sensation, rolling on his side to face the wall.

He can’t sleep – He doesn’t sleep – until he hears the rush of the shower sometime later. At least he hadn’t chased Alex out. At least Alex isn’t sleeping on the streets tonight because of him.

Tomorrow morning, he vows, if Alex is still here, he’ll make it up to him. He falls asleep to swimming in a vague notion of guilt, doubt looming ahead when his mind finally slips off into darkness.

 

*

 

When he wakes up next it’s in a strange hour of the morning that’s late enough not to be considered early but to early to constitute sleeping in. For a moment, Hercules can’t understand why he’s conscious. Then he hears the floorboards creak outside his door.

Alex.

He sits up, instantly alert, and rolls out of bed. Yanking a shirt from the floor over his head, he stumbles his day to the door, pausing a moment before swinging it open.

Alexander is there, fully dressed save for his shoes, arms full of a neatly folded blanket and pillow. He doesn’t scowl when he sees Hercules, which is something, but he also looks fully prepared to run.

“You’re up,” Hercules says, uselessly. Alex shifts, expression obscure as he holds out the blankets.

“I’ve been up.”

“Oh.” Hercules takes the blankets then, tossing them onto his desk near the door. Without the blankets, Alex wraps his arms across his chest again, though he remains in the doorframe. Hercules considers him, hesitating. “Are you hungry?”

“I should leave,” Alex says. “I wanted to thank you for letting me stay.”

He’s wearing the same sweatshirt from last night, but his hair is brushed up neatly and the circles under his eyes seem less severe. He meets Hercules’ stare unflinchingly, eyes bright in the morning. He tilts his head as he takes Hercules in, examining him in plain calculation. The move exposes long line of his neck. Hercules swallows, having to drag his eyes away, disgusted with himself all over again.

His next words tumble out without his consent. “At least, let me make you breakfast.”

Alexander’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

Hercules just shrugs, not sure what to do with the lingering guilt but feeling as though he must do something. “My stuff is still here, isn’t it?” he says, “I said I would.”

When Alex doesn’t respond, Hercules squeezes through the doorway and scurries down the hall. It’s easy to busy himself in the kitchen, pulling out eggs and mushrooms in preparation of an omelet. It’s a cheap excuse not to look up at Alex when he follows him a few second later, standing the entrance for a long moment before marching almost defiantly to the counter.

“I’m not staying,” Alex says and he sits down at the bar.

“Of course,” Hercules agrees quickly. “I mean, you can if you want to. The couch is yours if you want it. You don’t have to though.”

He cuts himself off before he can ramble further, jamming a whisk in the eggs and stirring irritably. Alex drops his eyes to fidget with his hands on the counter. They don’t talk as Hercules finishes making breakfast, not even when he divides up the food and slides Alex a plate. Hercules joins him at the bar, leaving a seat between them, and digging in without comment.

Eventually though, he finishes, and the silence gets to be too much.

“So,” he tries. “Where are you heading?”

Alex shoots him a glance. “I’ve someone to call,” he says vaguely.

Hercules frowns. “You said last night you didn’t have anyone to call.”

“Well, I do,” snaps Alex. He fidgets though, nails tapping against his fork, in a way that belies his attempt at confidence. “They told me I could call anytime. They’ve just done so much for me already.” He bites at his lip, heavy brows furrowing, before he shakes his head abruptly. “I already owe them too much.”

“Is this the same people that bought you that plane ticket too early?” Hercules hazards.

Alex nods. “The Livingstons,” he explains. The name sounds vaguely familiar to Hercules, though he can’t place it. “They’re helping to sponsor my education. And the flight wasn’t too early. There was paperwork I needed to sign. I got to meet with the dean.”

He says this last part with pride. Hercules is beginning to recognize the please little smile in the corner of his mouth and has to bite back his own answering grin. It’s not his place. “Well, it’s good that you have someone then,” he settles on saying. “Do you want a ride?”

Alex shakes his head sharply, expression closing down. “You’ve done enough.”

Guilt flares against in his stomach. Hercules winces, setting his fork down at the sudden lose of appetite. Alex doesn’t seem to want to talk about last night, but it’s clear he wants to get far, far away from Hercules, calling on a family that wasn’t even an option the night before.

“Right,” Hercules says. “Well, if you end up needing a place to crash . . . ” He trails off lamely.

“I won’t. Thank you.”

Alex pushes away his plate, standing up, clearly done with the conversation. His bags are near the front door and he piles them on, one after the other, before stepping into his shoes. Hercules trails after him to the door, feeling uncharacteristically small, saying nothing as Alex prepares himself.

When he’s got everything on, Alex turns to him, offering his hand with a solemn face that doesn’t crack even when Hercules awkwardly take it.

“Thank you for you assistance,” Alex says, overly formal. “I won’t forget it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hercules returns, uncomfortable. Alex just squints at him, like he wants to say something more, before turning on his heal and marching to the door. His exit is heralded with an anticlimactic little click of the doorknob and then it’s just Hercules left in the apartment.

The silence stretches once Alex is gone. Hercules rouses himself before he can do something stupid like stare at the door and shuffles back into the kitchen to clean the dishes. He putters around for a while longer, cleaning the last signs of Alex out of the apartment, something twisting in his stomach when he steps into the bathroom and sees the tiles still wet from Alex’s shower.

How weird it was to be attracted to this strange kid. If he hadn’t have made a move on Alex when he was drunk, Hercules may not have even realized the potential of it. Alex really _isn’t_ his type. Hercules has been in a dry spell for long enough he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to lust after somewhat.

He gets a fleeting desire about jerking off in the bathroom before the thought is chased by a wave of self-disgust. He turns sharply away, throwing himself onto the sofa and preparing to mute his brain with crap TV until he forgets the name Alexander Hamilton. After all, it’s not like he’s likely to see him ever again.

 

*

 

For two days he almost succeeds in putting that night out of his thoughts. Hercules occupies himself with work at the tailor shop and video calling his friends in his free time. He feels bad about his own pity-party when he talks to Laurens, who’s eyes brighten up as he talks about getting back to the city, clearly miserable back at home. Lafayette takes one look at him and demands to know what’s wrong.

“That does not sound like you, my friend,” Lafayette had merely said when the whole story finally had poured out. “Are you sure you are not misremembering?”

Hercules was sure. He’d hung up the call feeling even more sorry for himself and even more determined to put the event out of his mind.

When he gets the call from one of his side jobs that _The Heights_ is short bartender for the night, he goes and rolls on a black shirt without a thought. Anything to get out of his apartment and keep himself busy.

 _The Heights_ is crowded by the time he gets there. For a weekday, the crowd is heavy, filled to the brim with college students intent on eking out the last bit of freedom from their summer. He spots behind the bar when he walks in, nodding at the bouncer before making his way behind the counter. She grins when she sees him, but in the crush of orders it’s all he can do to open up the other station and begin picking up the slack.

“Jeez.” Peggy smacks her hand on the counter when the tide finally ebbs, skipping over and planting a bright red kiss on his cheek. She grins widely for one second, before punching him in the arm.

“The fuck man?” she demands. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Her eyes roll when he grunts. “I’ve been busy,” he defends, rubbing his arm.

“Jesus, I forget how boring you can be when you’re sober,” Peggy teases. “Where’s your crew?” She peers over his shoulders like they might just appear.

“They’re out of town mostly,” he says. “They’ll be back soon.”

“Well, tell them to come by and see me when they do. You guys are hilarious when you’re shit-faced.”

She throws her head back and laughs loudly before scooting off to the other side of the bar. Hercules wishes he was feeling more like himself. He’s only bartended with her a few times, but _The Heights_ is a regular spot for he and his friends to go drinking. He knows Peggy to be fierce, energetic, and kind – exactly the type of person he’d usually go for if his head weren’t so muddled. He wishes, belatedly, that he’d asked her what she was doing tonight – watching his moment pass as she leans over the bar, slipping her number across the counter to a blonde in a slinky red dress.

So much for that kind of distraction. Hercules busies himself back in his work, feeding tap beers to a group frat bros hanging near his station, trying not to groan too noticeably when they start to hoot and holler at whatever team is playing on the TV.

Over the noise, he almost doesn’t hear the commotion that’s stirring up behind them, until a very loud, very _familiar_ voice cuts over it all.

“ – If you _think_ for a minute that the American people aren’t being _screwed_ by George King then you’re obviously even more blind then you are stupid. Are you fucking kidding me right now? Like, seriously? You’re trying to defend that asshole?”

It’s Alexander. It has to be Alexander. Hercules has spent the last two days trying to put him out of his thoughts, only to hear his voice ring loud and clear across the bar.

Hercules lurches up. The crowd of frat boys has turned around to face the turmoil too, letting Hercules peer over their shoulders at the sight unraveling on the other side of the bar. Sure enough, there’s Alexander Hamilton, red in the face and screaming at some guy. There’s a pretty girl with long red hair pulling at his arm and the bouncer is pushing his way through the crowd, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Oh, shit.”

That’s Peggy. She’s snuck up beside him, watching the spectacle with wide-eyes. Hercules takes her presence at a sign and doesn’t hesitate, ducking under the bar.

“Watch my station,” he holler back, ignoring her yelp of surprise.

He pushes past the frat boys and the growing crowd, somehow managing to get through the circle before the bouncer does. Hercules doesn’t catch what the kid Alex is arguing with says something. What he _does_ see is the second Alex tenses. Then his arm comes up, swinging with a fist.

Alex’s punch shatters against Hercules’ chest when he throws himself forward. It knocks the breath out of his lungs, but Hercules is a big man. He heaves himself straight, grabbing onto Alex’s arm before he can do it again, watching Alex’s eyes grow wide with recognition.

“Hercules?”

Hercules ignores him, turning on the kid he’s been fighting with. The guy shrinks back when Hercules looks at him, squaring his shoulders and letting the full bulk of his body do the talking.

“You’re done here,” he announces coolly. “You’d better leave.”

The kid’s eyes dart down to Alex, but then he nods, stepping back and evaporating into the crowd. He’s just in time to miss the bouncer, who finally breaks through the crowd with a glower.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Hercules releases Alex’s wrist, stepping forward. He knows the bouncer well enough. His name is Mike. Or maybe Miles. Either way, he’s familiar enough that the bouncer hesitates when he sees Hercules.

“Just a little too much to drink here,” Hercules tells him. He shrugs his shoulders, smiling like _what can you do?_ He throws a thumb at Alex. “I know this one. He’s cool.”

“You’re supposed to be behind the counter, Mulligan,” the bouncer says, annoyed. He glares at Alex, but he must have missed the punch because he relents soon after. “Get your friend out of here,” he grunts. “No fighting in the bar.”

“Sure thing,” Hercules says, smiling, and waits until the bouncers walks away and the crowd begins to lose interest before turning back to Alex.

The girl he’s with is pulling on his arm, lips pulled together tightly. She’s dressed to the nine’s, almost too well for a simple college bar, and she looks stunning. Something sours in Hercules’ stomach watching her tug on Alex’s arm.

“Come on, Alexander,” she implores. “Let’s just go. This place blows.”

Alex is staring at Hercules though, a familiar calculating glint in his eyes. He turns to her, frowning.

“I know,” he tells her. “Just give me a second.”

She subsides when he squeezes her hand, stepping back to pull out her phone. Released from her grip, Alex steps forward confidently, no sign of the tense anxiety that Hercules remembers from the last time he saw him. The bar setting seems to have relaxed him – or maybe its just because he’s been out on the streets, not protecting all his worldly possessions in two bags and being picked up by a random stranger with dubious intentions.

“I’m not following you,” Hercules says, which seems lame the second it comes out of his mouth. Alex laughs though, flashing him a sharp smile.

“I didn’t think so,” he says. He steps forward, surprising Hercules by taking his arm and leading him several feet away. “Listen, I still owe you. And I should probably say thanks for stopping me from punching that guy.”

“It was nothing.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “I said I _probably_ should. Not that I will. That little asshole deserved it.”

“Do you make a habit of getting into bar fights?”

“I don’t know. Do you make a habit of picking up strangers?”

Alex’s smile wickedly – teasingly – but cold water pours down Hercules’ spine. Right. There was a reason Alex left the first time. Hercules isn’t exactly the white knight here.

“I see you found someone,” Hercules segues awkwardly, glancing at the girl. Alex follows his girl.

“Yeah. Kitty Livingston.”

The girl looks at her name, squinting at the sight of Hercules. She wanders over, wrapping her fingers around Alex’s arm, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Who’s this, Alexander? You didn’t tell me you met someone.”

“Kitty, this is Hercules,” Alex introduces, formality flooding his voice. His accent disappears in a moment, something that throws Hercules. He blinks as Alex continues, gesturing at him like they’re old friends instead of barely-acquaintances. “Hercules, meet Katherine Livingston. Her father is my sponsor. He’s been assisting me since I came to the states.”

There’s an awkward pause before Hercules remembers to offer his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” Hercules says and she smiles at him, but it disappears when she looks at Alex.

“I didn’t know you knew anyone in the city,” she says. “I thought I had you all to myself.”

Alex shrugs, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Hercules and I met a few days ago. I told you I’d been staying with someone.”

“Oh. I guess so.”

She looks Hercules up and down, obviously doubtful. “That’s nice,” she says, stiffly and then dismisses him entirely, blinking at Alex with a pout. “Can we go? I’m over this place. I know a spot downtown I want to show you.”

Alex’s head crooks. “I thought you said you’re father wanted you home by midnight?”

“Yes, well.” She blows out her cheeks and then grins. Her face is flushed warmly, skin glowing, and she nuzzles against Alex’s shoulder. “You told me I could take you out tonight,” she pouts at him. “Don’t go back on your word now, Alexander Hamilton. You already know you’re going to get to take me home at the end tonight.”

The tips of Alex’s eyes turn pink. Alex clears clears his throat, straightening. “Yes, alright. We’ll do it your way.”

Alex turns and smiles at Hercules, holding his hand out for another one of his oddly formal handshakes. “It was good to see you again Hercules. You should probably stop trying to rescue me though. I owe you too much already.”

“Yeah,” returns Hercules slowly. The way Alex is smiling unsettles him. _Everything_ about this moment unsettled him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Alex just grins at him again, before collecting Kitty’s coat from the back of a chair and escorting her away into the crowd. He doesn’t look at Hercules when he goes, but Hercules stares at after him, only recalling the bar when Peggy calls his name sharply.

“Jesus, what the hell was all that?” she demands when he finally slips back around the counter.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “Just breaking up a fight.”

“Bullshit. It didn’t _seem_ like nothing to me.”

But she lets it go and he’s grateful. He’s unsatisfied – unbalanced. He finds himself pacing the length of the bar like one of those big cats at the zoo, shoulders tensed with anticipation.

He thinks of Kitty’s pink nails wrapping around Alex’s arm and the way Alex’s voice had gone flat, formal, pressed free of his accent when she’d drawn near. He didn’t like her and that was such a stupid thing to do.

He throws his rag down onto the counter and scowls. If Alex wanted to play the upstanding scholarship student then Hercules would let him. It was none of his business anyway.

 

*

 

He thinks that that’s the end of it.

Hercules finishes up his shift and drags himself home. He tells himself he isn’t looking for anyone in particular when he finds his eyes wandering to the dark corners of the streets, but he keeps on doing it anyway. It’s stupid to be looking for Alex where he knows he isn’t anyway. Kitty had made it very clear where Alex was spending the night.

He shouldn’t even be jealous. She hadn’t done anything to him and Alex seemed just fine going alone with whatever she wanted. It doesn’t stop his gut from twisting though, pulling at him as he walks the long blocks to his home.

He’ll call Lafayette when he gets home. Maybe then he’ll finally get the absolution or condemnation he feels he needs. Lafayette will know what to do.

This time, when he turns the corner to his street he is neither drunk nor blind. It takes him just a minute to see the figure sitting on his doorstep, two bags and an erect back not hiding in the shadows but perched in plain view, waiting for him.

Hercules’ steps stumble. Alex’s head turns towards him, catching the noise, and it’s all Hercules can do to keep himself from running forward, half-jogging down the sidewalk to meet him.

Alex stands as the distance closes between them, the curl of his fingers around his two bags achingly familiar.

“Hey,” he says, too casually. Hercules gawks.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Alex shrugs. “You said your couch was free, yeah? I thought I’d take you up on it.”

“And Kitty? What happened to her?”

Here, Alex frowns. The expression on his face full of black humor. “It turned out her father didn’t take to her missing her curfew after all. He kindly asked me to leave.”

“He threw you out? Just like that?”

Alex shifts his weight, ducking his head and then peering up at Hercules with his stupidly bright eyes. “I may have told him I had somewhere else to go.” He pauses, licking his lips. “So, do I?”

The attempt at coyness doesn’t suit him. The light glitters off his wet lips, playing up the sharp angles of his face. Hercules takes a deep breath and yank back _hard_ the attraction bubbling up in him.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Come on.”

Alex’s smile almost makes Hercules drop his keys. He steps aside as Hercules unlocks the door, but he’s still far too close for comfort, peering over Hercules’ arm as he fits the key in the lock and turns. The march up the stairs is a silent one and then they replay the whole game at the door to his apartment, Hercules at last unlocking it and gesturing Alex inside.

It’s something special to watch the way Alex’s shoulders relax the second he steps through the doorframe, so opposite the last time he was here. It’s clear that somewhere along the way Alex decided to trust him and Hercules isn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge.

“I, uh, I’ll get you some blankets,” Hercules mumbles as Alex sets his things at the foot of the couch. He flees into his bedroom, closing the door behind him, heaving a huge breath once he’s alone.

It takes him a moment to collect himself. He scrubs a hand over his face, meeting his own wide-eyed expression in his mirror. He looks like an idiot, hiding in his bedroom, cowering under some pintsize freshman.

With effort, he gathers up the same throw blanket and pillow as before, finally emerging into the living room. Alex’s eyes glitter as he watches him come back, perched on the arm of the sofa like an alley cat. If he’d had a tail, it’d be twitching, watching him with all the inspection of a predator on the hunt.

He doesn’t say thank you when Hercules drops the bedding on the couch, just watches Hercules, waiting.

“Right, ah.” Hercules fidgets, waving his hands lamely. “I’ll just be down the hall if you need me. Just, um, make yourself at home.”

He turns to go away, thoroughly embarrassed, only to halt when a hand traps his wrist, pulling him back. Her jerks around, finding Alex risen from the couch, a curious expression on his face.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Alex says, stepping closer. “For tonight. And earlier.”

Hercules throat feels dry. He swallows experimentally, frozen when Alex narrows the space between them. “I thought the kid deserved the punch?”

“Oh, he did,” Alex nods. “He definitely did. I’m pretty sure you bore the brunt of it though.”

“I don’t mind,” Hercules says dumbly. Alex has snakes his hand up to Hercules’ bicep, pressing against the expose skin. “Forget about it.”

Alex tilts his head. “Yeah, you keep on saying that, but I haven’t forgotten anything.”

That hand winds up, curling around the back of Hercules’ neck. There’s no denying the light in Alex’s eyes now. Hercules doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand it. But he’s frozen as Alex wraps himself around him.

“I haven’t forgotten that you took my punch.”

His leg slides between Hercules’, thighs touching.

“I haven’t forgotten that you let me in.”

Their chests press together as Alex closes the distance. Hercules’ heart is booming, echoing loudly in his ear.

“And I haven’t forgotten that you’re letting me stay.”

The heat of his body imprints on Hercules in one long line. Alexander presses against him like a cat in heat, all bristling eyes and arching back. He wraps his nails around Hercules’ neck, rising up on his tiptoes until his breath mingles with Hercules’, hot and promising.

“Come on.” He’s practically growling. “Come on. Just do it already.”

“Alexander, what – ”

He’s silenced as Alex abruptly drags him down, thin limbs surprisingly strong. Alex crashes their mouths together – noses bumping, teeth scraping, no sense of delicacy at all. He doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, licking at Hercules’ lips until he gasps and then forcing his tongue past Hercules’ teeth. He bites at Hercules’ lip – hard enough he know it will swell – all the while snaking his hand lower, down Hercules’ chest and then right over his belt until he abruptly palms Hercules’ budding erection.

Hercules moans. He’s not . . . It’s been sometime since someone tried to manhandle him like this. He got tall his sophomore year of high school and ever since he’s played a game of slumped shoulders and slow steps to shrink the target that suddenly bloomed on his back.

But Alexander isn’t afraid of him.

The levee breaks.

Alex makes a keening sound as Hercules slams him up against the wall. His hips fit ridiculously easily inside Hercules’ hands. His shirt rides up and Hercules gets to dip his fingers into the warm sharp skin across his hipbones, which jut out of his scrawny frame like the wing feathers of some great bird.

He wedges his knee between Alex’s thighs, keeping him off the ground with little effort. Alexander captures his gaze before shamelessly grinding down on Hercules’ leg, drawing a moan from inside them both.

“Jesus,” Hercules breathes.

Alexander glares him, digging his nails into the back of his neck. “He’s not the one you should be worried about right now.”

He grinds down again, pressing his own thigh harsh against Hercules’ clothed cock, nearly making his knees give out. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” he demands, mouth twisted petulantly.

In that moment, Hercules has no greater desire than to fuck the very words out of the man. He casts his eyes about, grimacing at the distance to his room. Alex notices.

“I’ve got rubbers in my wallet,” he says. “You got lube?”

 _Does he?_ His last few months of hook ups hadn’t needed any. He thinks he still has some kicking around under his bed though, away from prying eyes.

Alex reads his silences as a negative. He shoves at Hercules, scowling. “Well, fuck, I’m not taking you dry. Backpack. Front pocket. You owe me more in the morning, that shit ain’t cheap.”

Hercules can’t help but notice the flood of his accent into his voice, the bitter, scathing way he wields it instead of that delicate formality he’d glimpsed last night.

“You keep lube in your backpack?” he asks, incredulously.

Alex rolls his eyes, unabashed. “Yes, obviously. For morons like you. Hurry the fuck up.”

His voice is irate. Hercules sets him down regretfully.

“Stay,” he asks.

Alex just glares at him, already working on stripping his shirt off. Hercules gets distracted by the play of light across his skin, the orange glow of the street light outside painting Alex in colors too soft for his sharp bones.

“Well,” Alex demands, when Hercules just stands there. “ _Go_.”

He pushes until Hercules’ concedes, peeling his fingers away reluctantly. The second they’ve untangled Hercules rushes to find Alex’s backpack, eventually tripping on it near the couch. He finds the lube first, pulling out the small half-empty bottle triumphantly before digging for condoms.

A fruitless minute later, he scowls. “I can’t find them.”

“The front pocket. I told you.”

“No that – the condoms. Your wallet’s not in here.”

“Don’t be an idiot, of course it isn’t.”

Hercules turns around, throat turning dry as he sees a completely nude Alex glaring at him across the room. He’s dangling a square of shiny tinfoil sarcastically.

“You think I leave my wallet in my backpack? Seriously? You’re fucking lucky you’ve got money, Hercules.”

Hercules bites back the instinctive comment about the miles and miles of student debt. There’s no point. It’s much better to swoop past the distance separating them, surging and crashing against Alexander’s mouth.

He picks Alex up like he’d never left him, only now Alexander’s warm skin is bare in his hands. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Alex’s ass, hoisting him onto his leg, hearing his shoulders smack against the wall.

Alexander gives as good as he gets. He kisses with his teeth. Biting at Hercules’ neck when he breaks to breathe, conquering his lip when he comes back. Hercules finds himself on a losing battle of wills, but the war’s not won yet.

He tightens his grip on Alex with one hand, before reaching up with his other, taking hold of Alex’s ridiculous hair and tugging him backward, aching his spine. He’s rewarded with a curse, which deepens in to a groan as Hercules finds the skin between Alex’s neck and shoulders. He sucks the skin there until he’s sure his mark will last, then moves down, finding Alex’s nipple and taking it into his mouth.

 _“_ Jesus _– fuck!”_

Hercules grins, keeping his teeth clamped tight around the bud. He runs his tongue over it, feeling Alex shiver in his grip, growing tense. A growing wet spot grows on his shirt Alex’s cock presses against him, leaking.

This one goes to him. He toys with the first nipple, then shifts over its twin, leaving a sloppy kiss in between. Alex’s chest heaves against his mouth as he devours the other nipple, ragged inhales cutting off when Hercules bites down, tugging the nipple up, away, until Alex bends with him, arching into his mouth.

Hercules does this again, once – twice – and then Alexander’s hands are pressing against his shoulders, battling him back until Hercules pulls back, grinning.

“Okay, okay - _enough.”_

Hercules licks his lips, triumphant. “Was it? I don’t know. I didn’t take you for being so sensitive.”

He punctuates his point by sweeping a thumb across a wet nipple, watching Alex crumple against him. Because he’s an ass, he pinches it, and Alexander’s groan rips out of him, cock jolting against Hercules’ stomach as he ruts.

“I thought so.”

Alex lifts his head, glaring at him. Despite the raging blush across his cheeks, he still manages to look pissed off.

“You want to play all night or you want to fuck me?”

Point to Alex.

Hercules’ cock gives a throb in his jean, suddenly raging against the confinement.

“Fuck you,” he decides. “Definitely fuck you.”

Alex pauses. He stares at him contemplatively, then down at his hands, head tilting. The grin that spreads across his face should probably scare Hercules more than it does. His pulse picks up, fluttering inside him. He prepares himself for Alex’s response, ill prepared when the man cocks his head, grins, and says:

“No.”

Hercules’ stomach plummets. Alex pushes against Hercules’ shoulders and he lets the man down instantly, stepping back to give him some space. It’s like ice water has been poured over his head, numbing his limps. He trips over his tongue, trying to think of what to say, what to apologize, when Alex steps forward.

Hercules steps back automatically, but then Alex steps with him – and again – until Hercules’ realizes Alex isn’t trying to get away, he’s herding him backwards. He realizes why when his legs hit the side of the couch and Alex’s smirk grows even more.

“My turn.”

That’s Hercules’ only warning before the smaller man jumps on him, literally jumps on him, pushing him over the side of the couch until his back hits the fabric and all the air escapes him in a gasp.

Alex’s hands are on him immediately, sliding up under his shirt. He grabs hold of both of Hercules’ nipples and _twists_ and Hercules bucks under his knees because holy shit he’s not playing around and that _hurts -_

And then he abruptly let’s go. The blood that rushes back into Hercules’ buds tingles unpleasantly. He gapes up at Alex, who sits above him smugly, feeling like a kid in his first tumble.

He can’t help it. No one’s every done that to him before. No one’s ever dared. And here’s Alexander with his stupid smirk and his flashing eyes acting like he’s got all the cards when Hercules is twice his size.

It raises the hairs on the back of Hercules’ arms and he shivers, not sure what the feeling blooming in his chest is.

“Shirt off,” Alex says and tugs at it. Hercules manages to close his mouth, shifting backwards until he leans against the armrest, then sitting up and yanking his shirt above his head.

It’s gratifying the way Alex’s eyes drag across him, followed closely by the crawl of his palms down Hercules’ chest. He digs his nails into the furrows of Hercules’ muscles, watching them twitch under his ministrations. Hercules’ lets him at it, riveted by the sight of Alex’s own fascination.

He’s drawn to the sight of Alex’s cock bobbing between his legs, right above Hercules’ stomach. It’s smaller than his – everything about Alex is smaller than him – but Hercules has the sudden wild flash of Alexander ramming it down Hercules’ throat, fucking shamelessly against his face, letting Hercules take him apart piece by piece by piece.

He has to touch it. He has to touch it _now._

He reaches down before Alex can take another swipe at his nipples and takes Alex’s cock in hand. The tip is smeared in precome already and he swirls his thumb across the top, watching Alex’s eyes hood, staring down at him intently. He shivers when Hercules runs his thumb across his slit. Growing still when Hercules does it again, pressing down this time, the slightest hint of penetration that gains him a fresh drop of precome to draw down Alex’s shaft.

He takes several long strokes, keeping the pressure tight when Alex moans, tossing his head back. His hips move idly into the air, hands braced back on Hercules’ thighs, but his eyes remain looking down, watching Hercules’ face and hands the whole time, never quite demanding anything.

Hercules only pulls away when the pressure in his own jeans becomes too great to ignore. He lets go of Alex’s cock, staring at the man straddling his hips.

“If it’s all the same, I’d really like to fuck you now,” he says.

Alex’s answering grin is sharp and quick. He lifts up his hips, clever fingers coming down to pop open the button to Hercules’ jeans and yank down his fly. He cock strains to get free, pushing against his boxers as Alex shits, lifting onto his knees to let Hercules’ shove his pants down, kicking them down past his knees, then off.

Alex descends immediately. Those thin fingers take his cock in an unhesitating grip, jerking him a dozen smooth strokes easily. Hercules is already hard. The movements do nothing but draw a groan from his lips, urging his hips to the air. Unlike Alex, he can’t keep his eyes open as he’s worked over, only realizing he’s closed them when the pressure on his cock suddenly disappears and the weight on his thighs vanishes.

He blinks open his eyes, having to squint a moment to rid himself of the blurriness. He spots Alex bending over something near his clothes, before he turns, coming back and settling himself over Hercules’ thigh again. Hercules recognizes the little bottle of lube and square tinfoil in his hands.

Alex squirts the lube onto his fingers, not hesitating before he reaches beneath him and breaches himself with one finger. Hercules can’t see. It’s not a good enough angle to see. And Alex’s face isn’t telling him anything that he wants to know.

He scoots back, sitting up, and reaches out to still Alex’s arm.

“Can I?”

He nods down, and Alex studies him critically, then eyes his hand on his arm.

“Yeah, alright. Knock yourself out.”

He withdraws his own finger and settles back against the opposite armrest, spreading his knees obscenely. Hercules can see now the gleam of lube on his ass – the puckered hole dark and promising. Alex tosses the lube onto his chest and spreads his arms across the couch, arching his eyebrows in a dare.

Hercules doesn’t even mind the sarcasm. He quickly sits up, scooting closer to Alex’s side of the couch. He squeezes a quarter of lube onto two fingers and doesn’t waste time, pressing them against Alex’s hole.

The ring of muscles flutters against his fingers. He strokes them back and forth, barely applying pressure, watching the way Alex watches him.

After a moment, he presses his index finger inside, feeling Alex clench against one knuckle. He waits until the pressure decreases before working himself all the way in, amazed at how hot it feels.

It’s been long – too long – since he’s fucked a man. He’s rusty. He pumps his finger in and out of Alex, watching his face, waiting to remember what it looks like when he’ll be ready for another one.

It doesn’t take too long though. Alex nudges him with a foot after scarcely a minute, eyeing him irritably.

“Another. Fuck, come on. I’m not breakable.”

He _feels_ like it though, he’s so small. Hercules trusts Alex’s judgment, pulling out his finger before pressing back in with two. The clamp of Alex’s muscles is greater this time. He keeps the initial penetration long, spreading it out knuckle by knuckle with rubbing circles in Alex’s thighs with his thumb. When he’s in fully, he takes his time crooking his fingers without pulling out, grinning when he finds that spot that makes Alex jolt and tense beneath him.

He rubs at Alex’s prostate for only a few seconds, not forgetting his goal, before pulling his fingers out and pushing them back in, stretching him out in earnest. He scissors the muscle until it lets him pass without resistance, only then coating a third finger with lube and pushing in. Alex meets him back on this stroke, fingers curling into the sofa.

Alex bites his lip, panting, which Hercules takes his permission to move faster, fucking his ass with his fingers. He hits his prostate every few strokes making Alex’s cock leak over his stomach, head turning an angry sort of red.

It reminds him of his own cock, standing hard and impatient between his legs. At last he stills his hand in Alex.

“You ready?”

Alex bites his lip and hums, fucking himself on Hercules’ fingers for a moment before pulling himself off.

When he meets Hercules’ gaze, his eyes are dark and promising. He crawls over Hercules’ legs, pushing until his back lands on the couch, and settling his knees on either side of Hercules’ hips.

He leans down, capturing Hercules’ lip in his teeth, yanking him up and then devouring him in a kiss. Hercules arm come up to cradle his back and their cocks brush, sending a sharp jolt of electricity down to his toes.

Alex pulls back after a moment, lips shiny and red. He braces his hands on Hercules’ thighs again and grins.

“On second thought, I think _I’ll_ be the one fucking _you_ tonight.”

And then he’s lowering himself onto Hercules’ cock and Hercules can feel his head push against that tight ring of muscles as he’s permitted _inside_.

Hercules is bigger than his fingers. Hercules is bigger than his fingers and Alex doesn’t seem to care because he’s lowering himself without stopping – taking in more and more of Hercules’ cock until their hips lock firmly together and that is it – Hercules is fully seated in Alex and Alex is biting at his lip, head thrown back, an intense look of concentration across his brow.

It takes everything in Hercules’ body not to grab Alex’s hips and just fuck him. He grabs onto the couch, willing his hips to stillness, refusing to move until Alex is adjusted.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Alex opens his eyes after a moment and finds his face unerringly. He captures Hercules’ eyes before he abruptly lifts his hips and let’s them fall, pulling a ragged, “Fuck _,_ Alexander!” from Hercules’ lips. Alex sets a steady pace then, fucking himself on Hercules’ cock with no input from the other.

And he _is_ fucking Hercules. There’s no other word for it. Hercules meets back Alex’s motion with thrusts of his own, but it’s Alex that sets the pace and wrings the sounds from Hercules’ throat. Alex who dissects him with his eyes as he fucks these little grunts and moans from him. Alex who lifts himself, again and again, on thighs that shake with effort, red in the face and moaning unabashedly.

“Let me,” Hercules says, panting. “Can I?”

Alex’s eyes narrow on him, speculatively. He nods once and doesn’t stop his motions at all when Hercules’ hands untangle themselves from the sofa, running across the smooth skin of Alex’s hips.

Hercules doesn’t dare try to grab him – doesn’t want to disrupt the rhythm Alex is clearly building. But he can touch.

He rubs his hands down Alex’s thighs, feeling the muscles shake and strain. He digs his nails in and Alex’s hips stutter, just for a second, enough that Alex glares at him and Hercules guiltily traces his palms up higher.

He remembers the noises Alex made when he’d bitten his nipple, then his own reaction when Alex had retaliated. He’s never thought much of nipples when he wasn’t with a girl, but he edges his hands up now, taking both Alex’s nipples and rolling his thumbs over them.

Alex shivers again, this time pushing his chest forward.

“Again. Do that again.”

So Hercules does. He rolls Alex’s nipples between his fingers, tugging lightly. Around his cock, Alex’s hole clenches, a squeeze and release that makes Hercules’ hips jolt.

He does it again and is rewarded with the same result, and again, each time winding up Alex’s muscles until he’s clamped tight around Hercules’ cock. Alex keeps up his pace, but his face is bright red, shiny with effort. He’s shaking apart, but Hercules is right there with him. He’d be embarrassed by the sounds his own throat is making except he can’t think of any of that right now.

This whole thing is just so surreal. He’s never been fucked like this – never been fucked period. His partners had always assumed, and he’d assumed right along with them, that he’d be the one in control. After all he was big and strong and that was just how it went right?

He didn’t know it could be like this. He had no idea this was something that he’d ever been missing.

Alex is taking from him unabashedly, seeking his own pleasure from Hercules’ body without apology. But he hasn’t left Hercules behind. Even now, his black eyes are tracking over Hercules’ face, studying him shrewdly. He’s very much in this moment with Hercules, present in a way that feels sharp and cutting, a knife shedding through Hercules’ illusions. Hercules doesn’t know how this sharp-eyed man came into his life, but he knows abruptly that he’s not ready for him to leave.

Hercules’ his release builds. His hands run on Alex’s chest. He squeezes Alex’s nipples hard and Alex leans back, moaning, the skin of his chest stretching as Hercules gets the message and pulls.

It’s got to hurt, but Alex seems to love it. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a new glazed cast over them. His hips stutter, rhythm knocked off before he finds it again, this time harder and faster. Hercules groans, hands twitching to take control over Alex’s hips.

Instead he squints open his eyes and focuses. Alex’s cock bobs red and swollen, drooling precome onto Hercules’ stomach. Hercules hasn’t touched him yet and he suddenly realizes he has to.

Alex watches with narrowed eyes as Hercules’ hands leave his nipples, snake their way down Alex’s sides. He wraps a hand around Alex’s cock without preamble, squeezing tightly, and Alex throws back his neck and groans while his ass clenches against Hercules’ cock, nearly sending him over the edge.

He can’t come yet. Not when Alex still needs him to ride. He bites his own lip, working Alex’s cock, pulling long, hard strokes from him.

The world narrows down to the heat around his cock and the weight of Alex in his hand. Hercules doesn’t realize he still wants to taste Alex until he finds himself staring at the tip of Alex’s cock, watching sticky white precome drizzle out of its flushed head onto his own skin. He gets another flash of that image, Alex gripping his head, pulling Hercules’ mouth flush against his cock, and moans.

Alex must have been watching him too. He moves his hands for the first time, using only one hand to brace himself as the other swipes across Hercules’ abs, gathering the sticky liquid. His mouth takes on a mischievous glint, but Hercules still doesn’t get it, doesn’t get it until he finds Alex waving three fingers in front of his face.

“Open up.”

And it’s so . . . It’s not disgusting. He’s not disgusted. But it’s so outside of his definition of normal that for a second he doesn’t move. He’s had a few girls lick his spunk before and one of the guys he once slept with had had a thing with Hercules’ hands, but he’s never been on this side of it before.

Alex doesn’t find anything strange about it though. He just raises his eyebrows in a dare and that’s how Hercules’ find himself opening his mouth, Alex’s long digits slipping in between his teeth, the salty taste of his own cock heavy on his tongue.

He tries to say something, he’s not sure what, but the sound comes out muffled under Alex’s hand. Alex laughs like he’s told the best joke of all, the vibrations travelling directly to Hercules’ cock.

“Maybe next time,” Alex says and Hercules doesn’t know what he means but he hopes he’s read it right. Alex is so smart he’s probably read Hercules’ own desire right on his face. And if by _next time_ he means he’ll let Hercules’ suck him off well, it takes everything Hercules has not to come right then and there.

He clamps his hand around Alex’s cock, squeezing hard, and Alex shudders above him. Hercules can’t last much longer. He feels like he’s shaking apart at the seams as it is. He keeps his grip brutal as he drags his fist on Alex’s cock, matching his pace to the slap of Alex above him.

Alex climax hits all at once. Hercules feels it when that tight ring of muscle flutters around him. Alex’s fingers curl against his tongue, his other hand digging nails into Hercules’ skin. Alex’s face clears when he comes - mouth open, neck tensed, his flank shaking like a racehorse. His rhythm fails him, leg muscles tensing like bowstrings, and Hercules picks up the slack. He lifts his hips, keeping them rocking as Alex shudders above him, oddly silent.

When it’s over, his eyes open. For a second, Hercules thinks Alex will pull off, to finish Hercules in his hand or mouth or leave him to himself, but instead a smirk spread over his face. He takes his fingers out of Hercules’ mouth, bracing both his hands on Hercules’ chest, and then moving his hips and _dropping_ back onto Hercules’ cock.

His hole is still tight from his orgasm, not relaxed even now, and Hercules own climax is coming, picking up sharply in the depths of his stomach.

He groans openly and Alex is there, taking over the noise with the press of his mouth. He kisses Hercules wetly, almost lazily, daring him to strain his neck and give chase when he pretends to draw away. And just when Hercules can feel the strain begin to give into something sweeter, Alex pulls back, giving no warning before his mouth clamps down on Hercules’ nipple, taking it between his teeth and yanking upwards.

Hercules comes with a hoarse yell. His back arches off the sofa, Alex’s hips continue to rock against him, drawing him through it. The orgasm makes his toes curl, his nails digging into Alex’s skin, at last letting himself grab onto Alex’s hips if only to hold on.

Alex’s mouth doesn’t release him until Hercules collapses boneless onto the sofa, all his energy drawn up and out his cock, nestled somewhere deep inside Alex. He can barely keep his eyes open to watch as Alex pauses, wide grin on his face as he settles his hips deep against Hercules, apparently immune to overstimulation.

Hercules is not so lucky. He moans again, this time a little brokenly, and scratches a protest into Alex’s hips. Alex ignores him with a kiss, rolling his hips experimentally on Hercules’ rapidly softening cock, before at last pulling off. He pulls the condom off Hercules’ before he has time to think about it, tying it, before tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. Only then does he collapse against Hercules’ chest, not minding the sweat or the come between them as he drapes on top.

The afterglow is magnificent. Hercules isn’t sure how long they bask in it before the drying sweat begins to grow itchy. At last he groans, prodding a droopy-eyed Alex until he at last sits up.

“Come on,” he says. “Shower time.”

Alex’s eyes gleam, but Hercules knows neither of them will be up for another round for a while. Alex slides off his lap, stretching out his arms as Hercules stands up.

“Hey,” Hercules says. He catches Alex by the wrist and the other man’s smile breaks, eyes widening.

“What is it?”

Hercules hesitates. There are many things he could say. Thanks for the fuck. Thanks for coming back. Thanks for not being scared of him.

“Just thanks,” he says and he smiles. Alex blinks up at him, before his eyes narrow, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

Just like that the moment is broken. Alex flaps a hand, grinning impishly as he turns and leads Hercules to his own bathroom.

“You _should_ be thanking me,” Alex says brightly. “I did just do all the work back there. You just had to lie there. Jesus fuck my thighs are killing me. You better believe you’re due for the heavy lifting next time.”

 _Next time_. A flutter rolls through Hercules’ stomach. A smile pulls on his lips, fondness settling in his chest. Hercules follows Alex down the hall without another word.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! Hope you enjoyed the dubious foray into something new. I have vague plans of making this into a series, but I'm holding off on making it official until I think it over more. 
> 
> As always, I'll be lurking down below if you want to say hello.


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